Let him cum on your face

Without hesitation you slide down onto your knees on the hard bathroom tiles and lean forward, placing your arms on Ted's muscular thighs. He's jerking his cock off right in your face. You can see the flaring crimson of his glans, the oily fluid dripping and you can smell your sex on him. His shirt is pulled up and you can see his defined abs clenching with the tension of his impending orgasm.

"Oh fuck, here it comes," he groans, stroking his fat dick from root to dripping tip over your upturned face.

"Give it to me," you encourage.

"Fuck, get ready, aaaaahhh!"

You watch as the underside of his cock visibly throbs. A moment later a hot jet of white spunk erupts from his prick and sprays across your chin, lips and over the bridge of your nose. Immediately you recoil a little and close your eyes. Warm, thick ropes of cum land on your face and drip into your open mouth and paste shut your eye. By the time Ted has wanked himself dry you feel like you're wearing a mud mask and gargling seawater. He slaps the head of his cock in the mess he's made, beating it against your pouting lips and smearing the cum across your cheeks.

You part your lips and he pushes his cock between them. You close your lips and suck him. He moans as you siphon a last drop of his salty seed onto the back of your tongue. A few swirls of your tongue around his sensitive cock-head and he can stand no more. He drags his cock from your sucking mouth with a pop.

"You're fucking glazed," Ted laughs. "Thanks, babe. You're hot."

"Mmmmm," you smile up at him, his cum dripping from your chin and onto your bare breasts.

"Well, I gotta go. Conference call in five. Here."

He presses a wad of paper towels into your hands. You stand up and carefully open the eye that feels least glued with spunk. As you do you realize that you and Ted are not alone. Office sadsack Paul Lindo is standing in the door, paralyzed by what he sees, a copy of the funny pages tucked under his arm.

Before Ted can even turn to leave, Paul is gone.

"Oh, shit," you say, realizing the trouble you may be in. Ted is no help, he wanders off as you get up and try to clean your face off in the sink. You don't have time to fix your makeup, you hurry out into the office, ignoring Haley asking you something about the spreadsheets. You make a beeline for Paul's desk. As you round the fuzzy cubicle wall your heart sinks. Standing and talking to Paul is none other than HR manager Donna Valentine.

Donna is the iron lady of the office. She has always been a real bitch to you.

She is a stout woman in her late 40s with her overgrown bottle-blond hair in an unflattering pageboy. She always wears the same sorts of serious business attire, dark pantyhose and sensible shoes. A cruel smile twists her lips when you make eye contact with her.

Five minutes later and you are sitting in her office, the door closed, staring at her desk covered with pig figurines and pictures of neices and nephews. No husband.

"So," she begins. "We have an issue."

You decide to play innocent. "What's that?"

"Well, Mr. Lindo walked into the bathroom and witnessed you and an unidentified male engaged in lewd acts."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Ms. Valentine. What sort of acts?"

She leans forward. "I believe it would be described as a 'facial'. He was buttering up that pretty little face of yours with his spunk. I bet you liked that, didn't you?"

"His word against mine," you counter. "And I say it didn't happen."

"Well, it would be his word against yours, except for one thing." She reaches into her desk and gets something. She passes it across to you. It's a mirror.

You hold it up to your face and see, to your horror, a jiggling strand of Ted's cum hanging from your ear.

"Am I fired?" you ask, wiping the spunk away.

Donna slowly gets up and walks around to your side of her desk. She rests her big butt against the edge of the desk in front of you, spreading her legs so that you can see darkness within her skirt where those legs meet. Her perfume is strong and outdated. She's making you a little queasy, as she reaches out and runs her fingers through your lustrous hair. Her smile is anything but sweet.

"We're having a discussion about your job," Donna finally answers. "Right now."

"What do you want me to do?" you feel sick even asking her. This is totally sexual harassment. You're not attracted to women and, even if you were, you doubt you'd be attracted to somebody like Donna. She caresses your cheek and looks you in your eyes.

"I want to see you naked," she says.

"Excuse me?" You spit back, unable to conceal your anger.

"You can get mad at me and I can go to Mr. Perry with what you were doing in the bathroom. Or, you can take off your clothes, and I'll help you figure out a good way to salvage your career." The gloating expression on Donna's face makes you want to scream. You don't know if you can bear submitting to this sort of mistreatment just to save your job. Once your clothes are off, then what will she want?